


Menagerie

by prosodiical



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Newt Scamander, Established Relationship, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 00:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10231319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/pseuds/prosodiical
Summary: Newt comes to New York with only one purpose in mind: find out what happened to the real Percival Graves.They've tried it the hard way; Theseus has been pressing MACUSA for weeks, but they won't do anything against the word of Graves himself. Newt's approach is a last-resort, but he'll do anything to save the man he loves, and so - he opens his case.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Ménagerie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12465820) by [Thecrasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thecrasy/pseuds/Thecrasy)



> Written for the kinkmeme prompt [here](http://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/459.html?thread=248011#cmt248011):
> 
> As a [friend/lover] of his brother's - and sort of a [lover/friend] of his - Percival Graves uses notebooks with protein charms to write back and forther across the ocean with his dear Scamanders. But the last message sent from Graves' book read simply "HELP GRIND" and was followed by a disturbing smudge. 
> 
> Theseus is unable to launch an investigation/tried but "Percival Graves" officially went on record saying that a friend's child got their hands on the book and it's totally nothign to worry about. Theseus' hands are tied. 
> 
> So it's up to Newt. Which is why Newt gets off a boat in NY with a case full of creatures who have all been briefed on one desperately important mission: Find out what happened to the REAL Percival Graves. And with that he opens his case.

Newt steps out of Muggle customs and into New York with one hand wrapped tight around the handle of his case and the ashes of Theseus's letter falling from the other, already being whisked away by the chilly breeze.

He drops away from the main street almost immediately, wrapping his fingers around his wand in his pocket. The letter hadn't said anything new, just the same repetitiveness of Theseus's investigation walled by MACUSA - and Percival Graves himself. It's terrifying in the most mundane and human of ways, the way in which people won't look or listen or _see_ what's right in front of them - the only thing Theseus's letter had said was _be careful, and good luck_. Newt presses his fingernails into his palm and stops in a deserted alleyway, setting his case on the ground.

He casts a _notice-me-not_ around himself and a Muggle-repelling ward, too, before he bends down and clicks open the latch. Newt has dozens of creatures, some small and discreet, some large and absolutely breathtaking in their power, but for the last two weeks Newt's stress has been getting to them all. Dougal clambers out first, and Newt meets his large, wise eyes and says, quietly, "Thank you."

Dougal shimmers out of view, and Pickett chirps from Newt's pocket. "It's all right," Newt says to him, "we'll work this out. Please be careful, Dougal, don't get caught."

Newt's learnt a bit from knowing so many Aurors, and the first is: _don't implicate yourself_. It means that he's never written about any illegal creatures in the protean-charmed notebook he and Percival share, that when Newt had Portkeyed into Theseus's office anxious and horrified, Percival's last words - his last warning, the start of Grindelwald's name - scrawled into a dark inksplotch on the page, Theseus had taken it and sworn to get something done.

That MACUSA had taken it unseriously, that apparently Percival himself had said not to worry, it was an accident leaving it out - Theseus had known better. Newt does, too.

"Whip up something large for us, won't you, dear?" Newt says, his hand on Frank's flank. Frank croons as Newt slides his hand down his feathers, murmuring a Disillusionment charm as he grips his wand, and when it settles well enough into Frank's magic the thunderbird flaps his wings once, twice, and takes to the skies. 

The already overcast day seems to darken, and Newt exhales as a flock of billywigs and doxies that he's been feeding a mix of invisibility and strengthening potions fly out and away. "It's a bit of a tight squeeze," he says, when Rosie sticks her nose out. "Come on, sweetheart, I can't have you being hurt."

She exits carefully and watches him, not quite docile, as he smiles at her. "This won't hurt a bit," he reassures her as he steps forward, pressing a hand to her head; her neck flares, poison building at the touch of his magic, and Newt clicks his tongue. "I don't want them to hurt you. Please."

A nundu's hide is near-invulnerable, but Newt learned charms for strengthening dragons in the war, and he casts them now, layering them tight to her skin and short fur. She endures them with ill-grace and shakes her head when he steps back, her eyes glinting as he shoos her off. She doesn't leave, instead dropping to her haunches and sitting there beside him until he's let all the older occamies out, charmed silent and invisible and set loose on the city streets.

Newt casts a _point-me_ and gestures in the direction of the Woolworth building. "Go stir them up a bit?"

She looks at him for a moment longer and then rises to her feet, padding silently away.

It starts to rain when Newt Apparates to Percival's home. Pickett chirps dejectedly as all Newt's spells turn up empty and his released pixies zoom around. "Please let me know if you find anything," Newt tells them, and they laugh, high-pitched and grating, and split off as they fly away.

From Percival's house Newt tries to circle, Theseus's post-owl hooting mournfully as she drops briefly to his shoulder. "It's all right," Newt tells her, but he's starting to feel jittery and anxious with it, his steps speeding up. "He - he's probably in New York, isn't he? Post-owl redirection spells aren't that effective."

Even so, when Newt stumbles into a crowd in front of the bank following a billywig's trail he snatches up his Niffler and layers another Muggle-misdirection spell on it as it stares at him. "No," he tells it, "Percival, remember? I'll give you all the shiny coins you want - later."

The Niffler huffs a noise and shakes its fur when he drops it, but at least it stops heading toward the bank.

With lightning flashing and rain pouring down, with some Muggle woman shouting about witches and magic: "Do you think this is natural?" and the Muggle crowd pulling out umbrellas and raincoats and ducking for cover, Newt looks into the sky, watching the glimmer of invisible creatures whizzing through the air. They'll find him. They have to.

"You!"

Newt's pulled aside by a hand on his elbow and into an alleyway, by a witch who immediately pulls her wand on him. "Who are you? What was that creature?" she asks, sharply. "You just let it go!"

"Ah," Newt says, glancing at her, "Newt. Newt Scamander. If I did - well, shouldn't you let me go so I can catch it?"

She makes an indeterminate sound of annoyance and shakes her head. "You just broke the law," she says. "I have to take you in."

"Please, I can get it back - " Dread coalesces in his gut as she Apparates them to the Woolworth building, dragging him immediately inside. "I don't really think this is necessary, he just jumped out of my hands, he's really quite harmless - "

"You let some crazy creature loose!" She stares at him. "Mr Scamander, we have enough trouble in New York without some - foreigner coming in and risking the Statute of Secrecy."

"He wouldn't be spotted," Newt says, tentatively. "Miss - "

"Goldstein," she says, irritated. "Do you even have a permit for that thing? Did you come through customs?"

"Ah, well, technically - "

She drags him to a room she bursts into, and then Newt's abruptly faced with the President of MACUSA and a man who looks precisely like Percival Graves. "Excuse me," Goldstein says, "but this man - "

"Mr Scamander," President Picquery says, eyebrows rising. "I do hope you're not here to level unfounded accusations against my staff."

"Oh," Newt says, and manages a wince. "I'm very sorry about Theseus." He glances at the imposter - Percival, he forces himself to think, his Occlumency is hardly up to par - and smiles shakily. "I've been telling him to stop - I know it must have been a mistake, and I, ah, overreacted - but he doesn't listen to me at the best of times, I'm afraid."

Picquery says, "Hm," but Percival smiles crookedly.

"It's all right, Newt," he says, and looks at Goldstein. "Let me guess, you've lost a creature?"

"My Niffler got loose again," Newt says, grimacing as he drops his gaze. "I was trying to catch him when Auror Goldstein brought me in."

"Ms Goldstein," Percival says, an emphasis on her title, "has the regrettable habit of jumping into things without much thought." Beside him, she winces. "Madame President, if you don't mind - "

"Of course."

" - then I'll take Newt from here. You haven't passed magical customs yet?"

"No, I came in the usual way." Newt offers a regretful smile to Goldstein, looking stunned as Newt follows Percival out, and feels himself flush under Percival's curious look. "I - think she meant well, at least."

"She usually does. Unfortunately, that's not all we require of Aurors here."

Percival leads Newt to his office, where Newt looks around, cataloguing changes; the primary one is the duplicate of his notebook, sitting on Percival's desk. Newt had loved it, before, a tangible record of him that made Newt picture his smile, but now - "I wanted to apologise," he says, as Percival catches the direction of his gaze. Percival shakes his head.

"No, I should," he says. "I never meant to worry you."

"It's inconvenienced you rather more than me," Newt says, and manages a wry smile. "I didn't think Theseus would be so - unreasonable about it."

"His tenacity does him credit," Percival says, and Newt forces down the frisson of discomfort when Percival takes his case from his hands. "I'm afraid I will have to catalog what you have in here."

"It's all right," Newt says, ducking his head as Percival sets it on the floor, unlatching it and opening the lid. "It's quite empty, to be honest, I've been trying to return most of my creatures to their homes since I'll be working on my manuscript soon."

Newt follows Percival down after taking a moment to cast a few discreet spells around his office: nothing. He exhales and keeps his eyes on Percival's back, the familiar length of his coat, the profile he makes - he's different, but not in any definitive way. More than anything, Newt needs to find Percival; more than anything, Newt needs proof.

Percival looks around, noting down the baby occamies in their nest, the menagerie of water-based creatures Newt didn't bother to release. "I picked up Annabelle recently," Newt says about the erumpent, lying mournfully on the ground, "her mate was killed by poachers, and she's very close to her heat - I hope it's all right?"

"Yes, it should be," Percival says, looking up into Frank's empty sky. "Did you have something flying here?"

"Oh," Newt says, "there was a Fireball I picked up in Somalia, but I dropped her off back in China - no, I ran into a travelling phoenix there. I think he wanted to come with me, but not yet - I thought I might look for him again after I finish my manuscript. I couldn't bring myself to remove the habitat."

It's the truth, for all that there have been creatures in between, and when Newt chances a glance at Percival there's something foreign and strange in his eyes before he blinks and smiles. "Your life is so interesting," he says fondly, and it sounds disquietingly sincere. "You're quite a catch, Mr Scamander."

Newt can feel his face warm and he ducks his head, hoping the roiling discomfort doesn't show on his face. "I don't always know what you see in me," he says, because that's what he would say. "But - thank you."

When Percival walks through them, the mooncalves squeak and jump out of the way. "I'm sorry, they're a little shy - I have twelve of them," Newt says, and pushes another curtain aside to the tundra of his Obscurus habitat. "And this - it's not dangerous," he says, quietly. "If you think it will cause me trouble..."

"The Obscurus child you mentioned," Percival says, circling Newt's magical bubble. "In your letter?"

"Yes," Newt says, staring past the quiescent black form of it, the grief of it rising again. "She was dying already, and I thought - but in removing it, it's not... Without my spells, it would just fade away. I suppose I brought it here to study it, but..."

"It's difficult, with the death of a child." Percival's tone is almost too clinical, but when Newt glances at him he smiles wryly. "I should be able to pass it off for you."

"Thank you," Newt says, and can't quite meet his gaze.

Percival steps forward, catching Newt's wrist with his hand, and Newt fixes the thought of him in his mind as he lifts his head and returns Percival's crooked smile. "I think you might be able to help me with something," Percival says, his voice dropping. "Not precisely on the record. There's been a set of attacks lately, and I think it might be a creature."

"If it's not dangerous - "

"It hasn't hurt anyone yet," Percival says soothingly. "We won't aim to kill."

"Then," Newt says, smiling tentatively, "of course."

He passes Newt the files once they leave his case, and with the conversation still suspiciously fresh in Newt's mind it's obvious what Percival wants Newt to realise. "This is from an Obscurus attack," Newt says, obediently stunned, and Percival leans back in his chair, pressing a hand to his forehead as he sighs.

"I hoped it wasn't," he says, "but if you think so too..." He leans forward and fixes Newt with a penetrating look; Newt thinks, silently, of Sudan. "Do you think you can find them?"

Newt looks back to the file, pressing his fingers to the photograph. "A child," he says, "probably female, less than ten, in a magic-hating environment - you have some idea, don't you?"

"There's a group called the Second Salemers, run by a No-Maj woman. She's taken in a few children personally, and also provides food to all the homeless, if they agree to spread her magic-hating rhetoric." Percival taps his fingers on his desk. "Picquery won't hear it, of course, but if we could find the child before she hurts anyone..."

"But," Newt says, "can the Obscurial even be - fixed? As the Obscurus grows..."

"Perhaps not entirely," Percival says, looking absent, "but it may be able to be controlled."

The shadow of a stranger is in his face. Newt opens his mouth, closes it, and is thankfully saved from answering by someone bursting through the door.

"Mr Graves, sir - there's a nundu outside the Woolworth building! Right in the street!"

"A nundu," Percival says, and raises his eyebrows at Newt, who thinks he looks convincingly startled as he shakes his head. Percival rises to his feet, grabbing his coat and gesturing for Newt to do the same. "Well, it's a good thing we have an experienced magizoologist on call."

"Full-grown, though?" Newt says doubtfully as he picks up his case and hurries after him, following the Auror leading the way. "I mean, it was only the once, and I was just returning a cub to its mother - "

"Newt," Percival says, smiling wryly, "that's far more experience than most magicals have with the creatures." They pull to a stop in the front hall, where Newt can see her pacing - no, stalking - back and forth outside. "Can you handle it?"

"If it comes," Newt says, biting his lip, "will you let me keep it? And - no magic."

Percival studies him for a moment, then nods, lifting a hand as he strides outside. "Hold your spells," he calls over the assembled Aurors, "we're letting Mr Scamander handle the creature."

Newt can hear the confused murmurs, but they fade to background noise as he steps out, fixing his gaze on Rosie as he would a wild nundu.

And she is wild, for all that he took her in as a cub - the runt of the pack, abandoned even when her mother took the rest of her litter back into her den. Newt approaches her slowly, keeping his eyes on her paws and the way she flexes them; she flares her neck-ruff as one of the wizards she's already hit groans in pain before collapsing to the ground, but she doesn't breathe out. Newt keeps his body language unassuming, unchallenging, and she watches him steadily but lets him approach.

He's warned by someone's shout: "Don't - !" 

Newt spins on his heel, wand out, raising a shield just in time; the bludgeoning curse ricochets back but Newt is looking over his shoulder, slowly turning back. Rosie's dropped to her haunches, tension through her form, but Newt steps forward again and starts a low, careful litany of words that matter more for tone than content. "I won't hurt you," he says, "you'll have a home with me," and when he crouches low and opens his case she comes to him.

Newt shuts it with his heart pounding in his chest, breathing out as the adrenaline subsides. There's a flash of lightning, a rumble of thunder close by and Newt glances that way only briefly before turning back to the Aurors - and the supposed Percival Graves.

"How am I going to write this up?" Percival says to him, but he looks amused. One of his Aurors is on the ground, thrown back from his spell, skin scraped and bleeding heavily; the ones Rosie dropped with her breath are still and silent, covered in strange-looking boils. "Thank you for dealing with it, but I'm afraid this'll take most of my day."

"Oh," Newt says, "that's quite all right - I do still have a Niffler to find."

Percival reaches out, pressing his knuckles to Newt's cheek, and Newt manages a smile in return. "I'll see you at home?"

"Yes," Newt says, "I think I still remember the place."

Percival huffs a laugh, his hand falling back to his side. "Good luck, then," he says gently, and Newt watches him turn away, walks out of the wards and a whole two blocks of the city before he slides down against a wall and nearly chokes on it, horrified nausea swirling in his gut as he presses his hand to his mouth and squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

Years of their contact were in those charmed notebooks; when Percival pressed one on Newt the morning after a lovely day and a lovely night, Newt had been dubious but entranced enough by the softness of his eyes. Percival wrote more than Newt - he liked to scratch something down at least once every few days, usually mundane, and Newt responded when he could, shared details of his travels and foods he'd eaten and creatures he'd met, his life laid out in careful whorls of ink. Percival had written _I love you_ a week before Newt had returned to New York and he'd said it to him in person, and Newt had - treasured it, kept it close.

He knows Percival had, too.

Newt swallows and blinks hard when something touches his hand. It's Dougal, shimmering into view for a moment to look at Newt, quiet and understanding, and Newt smiles at him weakly. "I need to find him," Newt says, and pulls himself unsteadily to his feet, "don't I? Come on, Dougal, let's go."

When he steps out again into the street the rain is still bucketing down, the clouds heavy and dark, and Newt can see the shimmer of near-invisible creatures flying through the air. They're in patterns, now, a swirling vortex not-quite-there, a whirlpool of activity spreading around and in, transparent except for when the light hits them just right - and when lightning flashes, thunder sounds, Newt can almost see where it strikes. 

To the centre of the hurricane, then, Newt goes.

He nearly runs into the witch a second time wandering in the deluge, when she opens a charmed umbrella over his head and blocks his view of the sky. "Hi," she says, a little awkwardly, "you're looking for your creature?"

Newt peers at her curiously. "I suppose so," he says. "Ms Goldstein, right?"

"Tina," she corrects, looking abashed. "I wanted to apologise. I didn't know you were, ah, with Mr Graves."

"I do probably get away with - more than I should." Newt follows the flashes of lightning, the rumbles of thunder echoing through to his bones. The storm is all magic and the air is saturated with it, the taste of ozone lying heavy on his tongue. "Actually, if you don't mind me asking - I'd thought you were an Auror."

"I was," she admits. "Recently demoted. There was an... incident." She makes a face and looks away, and then nudges Newt's arm. "Hey, is that your creature?"

Newt follows her pointing finger to the Niffler packing away half the contents of a jewellery store. Newt steps up to the window, and the Niffler takes a long moment to look at him, unrepentant. "You had one job!" Newt tells it through the glass, and then looks around at the near-deserted, rainy street. " _Finestra_."

"Can't you just _accio_ it?" Tina calls out after him as Newt jumps through the window, eyes narrowed and fixed on his prize. "And - wait. Did you release that thing on purpose?"

"Nifflers are very slightly spell-resistant," Newt says, "and I'm afraid I didn't want anyone else getting their hands on him, I just hoped he'd be a little better at _doing what I asked him to_ \- " The Niffler dodges his grab, but Newt catches it mid-leap to the chandelier with a triumphant noise. "What did I tell you? Stop thieving!"

He shakes it out and leaves a pile of both jewelry and gold on the floor, increasingly large. Newt makes a face and tickles the last of it out in another fountain of silver and gold. Tina stares at the pile in shock. "What - what in Merlin's name did you ask it to do?"

Newt glances at her for a moment, then back out the window at the sky. The air goes dark before lightning once more splits the sky, and in that moment, in the glint of light and disillusionment spells in the air - "Mercy Lewis," Tina says, weakly, "what are you - what did you do?"

They're swirling toward a fixed point, the eye of the storm, and Newt shoves the Niffler in his case as he steps back out into the rain. "It's all right," he says, hearing the buzz and chitter of mischievous pixies in the air, "she won't tell anyone. Will you?"

"Did you just - release an entire magical zoo into New York?" She sounds dumbfounded, and runs after him as Newt follows the rain, pounding down harder as he walks. "You've broken so many laws - "

Newt looks at her for a moment, and then smiles, slightly wry, dropping his gaze to the ground. "Do you really think I care? Don't worry, I've been careful about the Statute, nearly everyone's invisible - "

"Everyone - " She splutters, staring horrified up into the shadows in the sky. "You're dating Mr Graves! He's the Head of the Department!"

"Yes," Newt says, "and I'm sure he'd be vastly annoyed with me, too - if he hadn't warned me nearly a month ago about Grindelwald and then afterward very mysteriously passed it off as an accident while acting not quite himself. He asked for my help, and I - I did try to do it his way. It wasn't working. So now it's my turn."

They've made it to the nexus, where the air is thick and heavy and an invisible hand lifts up a grate, lightning-struck in the ground. Newt sets his case open on the ground and whistles a note, sharp and clear; it cuts like a knife and sends everything buzzing, whirling, flying past him, the soft whisper of billywig wings and the harsh buzz of doxies and the mischevious twitter of pixies, the larger, air-moving gusts of an occamy as it lands on his shoulders. Newt runs his fingernails down its spine when it nudges him with its scaly head. "Where's your sister, hm?"

The occamy chirps a delighted note and leaps, still invisible, into his case.

Then there's only Frank, and when Newt calls out to him he circles them, dropping slowly to the ground. His wings fold to his sides, Newt's careful spells already starting to wear off, and when Newt says, "Thank you," he nuzzles Newt, feathery head pressed close as Newt wraps his arms briefly around his neck.

"Is that - " Tina starts, and then shakes her head. "You think - Mr Graves has been replaced by Grindelwald?"

"Yes," Newt says, as Frank disappears into his case, and he picks it up and peers for a moment down into the open grate. A cushioning charm will do it, and he casts one on his shoes. "In fact, I'm almost certain of it." 

"What's down there? What are you looking for?"

Newt glances back at her. "What all your - rules, and regulations, and terribly restrictive laws want: proof."

He jumps down, landing light on his feet, and his grip fails, nerveless, on his case. It drops to the floor as Newt runs toward Percival, the real one: drawn, exhausted, but alive.

Pickett slips out of his sleeve as Newt wraps his arms around Percival's shoulders, winding his fingers into his lank hair as he presses his breathless, thankful smile into his cheek; "I'm so sorry," Newt says, "Percival, I'm so - "

"Newt," Percival says, the roughness of his voice a warning.

Newt turns his head slowly to see Percival - no, Grindelwald - standing only a few metres away, watching them curiously. "Go ahead," he says, "I'd love to see how I fare against a Hogwarts drop-out and a starved wandless Auror. Particularly when I have your trump card." He nudges Newt's case with his foot, and Newt looks back at Percival, whose face has drained of colour. "You're an excellent liar, Newt. I almost thought you hadn't seen through me at all. What gave me away?"

"I knew at the first," Newt says, quietly. "But that you wanted the Obscurus to be _controlled_ \- "

"Yes," Grindelwald says, mock-thoughtfully. Newt doesn't look at the flicker of movement he sees in the corner of his eye. "But that's what you do, isn't it? You phrase it well, but the way your creatures are so well-trained... I wasn't lying to you earlier. I could use your help."

"For your cause?" Newt says, and drops his hand to squeeze Percival's wrist, newly unchained, as Pickett clambers back up his sleeve. "I'm afraid I really couldn't."

Grindelwald says, "A pity," and something shimmers, moves as Newt grabs Percival and dives out of the way —

His spell goes wide, red and crackling toward the ceiling; the expansive space is tight and small with the barely-visible glimmer of an occamy's scales. Newt feels more than sees the build of Grindelwald's magic and chirps a sharp, desperate sound as the first cracks and breaks the disillusionment and his hastily-woven shield; the occamy spins her head to stare at him as she turns visible - and, thankfully, chirps back.

She shrinks with as much speed as she grew, diving toward Newt's pocket with a pinpoint accuracy that makes Grindelwald's second spell also hit hard against the brick walls. "You," he says, eyes glittering, as he turns his wand on Newt, and Newt looks past him to his case, latches undone and open on the floor.

Rosie's rumbling growl reverberates in the wide, empty space. Newt bites back a smile and coughs into his hand as Grindelwald stills. "Really," Newt says, "I think you should turn around."

Grindelwald, slowly, does. "So the nundu was yours," he says, eyeing her warily as she readies herself to pounce, muscles entirely tense. "What a pity. _Avada_ \- "

He trips with an invisible hand around his ankle and Rosie pounces, teeth at his throat as his wand clatters to the floor. "Rosie," Newt chides, as her poison builds, "please - "

Grindelwald chokes out another syllable and Rosie breathes directly in his face.

When Newt looks back at Percival he's watching Newt as though he hung all the stars in the sky, and Newt drops his gaze for a moment, cheeks pinking as he smiles. "I'm sorry," he says, quietly. "I - I should have done something earlier."

"How can you be sorry?" Percival asks, and struggles to rise; Newt offers him his arm and helps him to his feet. "After that display - and I know you would've done what you could." He smiles at Newt with a gentleness Grindelwald hadn't been able to replicate, and Newt steps forward into his embrace.

"MACUSA wouldn't believe me," Newt says into his shoulder, "even with Theseus. I - I'd hoped..."

"You found me," Percival says, "you and your creatures. Thank you."

He presses his lips to Newt's forehead and Newt lifts his head to kiss him, quiet and chaste, before Percival pulls away.

He walks over to Grindelwald's unconscious body on the ground, eyeing Rosie lying on him languidly as he carefully bends down and picks up his wand. He steps on Grindelwald's prone hand for good measure, and when he points his wand at the man and casts a disgusted _revelio_ , Grindelwald's features shift and change - and he appears to also be coming down with a case of strange boils.

Percival glances at Newt, his mouth twitching into a smile. "Ah," Newt says, "It's a bit of a side-effect, I'm afraid. I've been experimenting with diet and the effect on a nundu's poison - poor Rosie's been eating antelope and snails all week so she can't kill anyone - but, well - "

Percival pulls him close and, shaking his head, muffles his laugh into Newt's jaw. "I love you," he says, sounding immensely fond, and Newt smiles.

"I - "

They both spin around at the sound of boots on the floor, Percival's knuckles white on his wand and Newt grasping for the Swooping Evil in his sleeve, but it's some wizard Newt doesn't recognise dropping from the grate in the ceiling. He squints at them and says, "Mr Graves?"

"Lopez," Percival says flatly.

"And - Mr Scamander, right? The one with the... nundu?" He seems, then, to spot the nundu watching him from over Grindelwald's prone body, and takes a visible step back. "It's all clear," he calls out, upward. "But be careful, there's a - "

The sound of the Apparation wards cracking and breaking is nothing compared to the dozen Apparations that follow, and Newt's attention is immediately fixed on Rosie who's risen to her feet, claws flexing. He makes a pointed, chiding noise as he steps toward her, and she stares as him as though to say, _another?_ before she huffs and flops to her belly.

" - a nundu," Lopez finishes, awkwardly, as Newt coaxes her carefully back into his case.

"Mr Graves," Picquery says, "Mr Scamander - I do believe you told me just a few hours ago you didn't believe there was anything wrong with Mr Graves."

"Oh," Newt says, "did I?"

"Considering Grindelwald attacked _and_ replaced me," Percival says.

Picquery holds Percival's stare for a long moment before she looks away. "Yes," she says, "apparently so. Arrest him."

Newt sees Tina at the back of the group, and she offers him a wry smile as she sidles up to him. "I hope you've collected all your creatures back now," she says, and Newt glances around, biting his lip in thought. "What - still?"

"The Obscurus," Percival says lowly, and Newt meets his gaze for a moment and nods. "You're right - she won't let you investigate. Are they familiar enough with the magic of it?"

"They found you," Newt says, and picks up his case, fiddling with the lock. "And most of the invisibility won't wear off until morning."

"And if it does?"

"I might have something in mind," Newt admits, reassured by Percival's wry smile. "The attacks are getting worse, though - Grindelwald was running out of time."

"You're really going to set everything loose - again?" Tina asks in disbelief. "Mr Graves, sir - "

"Goldstein," Percival says, "I don't think either of us have said anything of that sort." He reaches out to Newt, though, fingers wrapping around his wrist. "Dougal will be fine?"

"Dougal's probably already gone," Newt says, glancing around. "But you're hurt - you should be going to the hospital, not coming with me on some harebrained - "

"Newt," Percival says, and when Newt looks at him his expression is gentle but intent. "He needed me alive. I can manage one more night."

"We - we should get married," Newt blurts, emboldened by his smile. "For hospital visitation, and so people might actually believe me - "

Percival laughs. "Such a romantic," he says, and Newt feels his face warm. "Of course. But Theseus might actually kill me if we don't do it properly."

"I - I think that will be fine," Newt says, and winds their fingers together. "Grindelwald gave me a location."

"Then we'll go," Percival says, and turns his head to say, sharp: "Goldstein!"

She nearly jumps. "Sir?"

"Tell Madame President we said we were going home," Percival says. "It has, after all, been a very long two weeks."

"Sir," she says, doubtfully, but after a moment she sighs and nods. "I will."

"Thank you," Newt tells her sincerely, before he focuses his thoughts and Apparates himself and Percival away.

They land in a deserted back alleyway, only a block away from the church Newt noticed on his search. It's dark out now, the rain stopped though the clouds still hang low in the sky. And his urgency has faded, even as Percival winces and braces himself for a moment against the wall; Newt presses his lips together but knows he has to trust Percival to know his limits - as much as Percival has trusted him. "You'll have to introduce me to them all," Percival says as Newt sets down his case on the floor, and Newt smiles at him as he clicks open the latches and opens the lid once more.

"I will," he says. "But - all of them?"

"Yes, all of them."

"You might regret that," Newt says, his heart light, and he steps back from the lid and whistles a clear note.

His creatures come pouring out; some confused, some excited, large and small and everything in-between. One last search, with their invisibility mostly steady, Percival's disillusionment charms another layer of disguise, and there's something to be said for having a menagerie of friends willing to help him when he's in need. "Please," Newt says, "if you can find them, let me know."

They leave in a flurry of movement, barely visible in glints of light, and Newt exhales as he watches them go. Percival slides their palms together. "We'll find the Obscurial," he says with a steady resolve. "Just as you and your creatures found me."

"I was always going to find you," Newt says quietly, feeling unspeakably warm at the soft emotion in his eyes. "I always will."

"Then trust in yourself more," Percival says, and raises his gaze to the shimmer of Frank's wings in the sky. "Because I do."

"You're - terribly biased," Newt protests weakly, and Percival's smile widens as he shakes his head and tugs Newt's hand.

"Come on," he says, "we should follow them, shouldn't we?"

One more time. Newt looks into the sky and trusts his creatures to tell him where to go.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat gramander with me on [tumblr](https://prosodiical.tumblr.com/) if you like!


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